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Vorgeheim-1-20-2492

"Here they come!" I shouted as several dozen dawi leveled their firearms along the walls, preparing to receive the charge.

The percussion of drums echoed through the tunnel, heralding the arrival of hundreds of greenskins charging at us with the intent of breaking down the gate and slaughtering us all.

Between my musketeers and the dawi militia manning the walls, we held them back while the orcs hurled all their fury against the heavy gates we had raised to deny them passage. They hammered with axes, clubs, even with their own skulls like rabid beasts, desperate to force their way through.

The gunfire continued for endless minutes until, at last, we brought up the organ gun. The weapon roared, spitting fire and shot into the packed orcish horde, tearing them apart at once. Little by little, the green tide faltered, then broke; the survivors fled back toward the karak further along that same route.

"Uff… that was close," I said, exhaling heavily. "They almost caught us with our trousers down. But now, with the cannon properly set, this pass should be easy to hold."

The dawi militiamen only nodded, their eyes fixed on the tunnel darkness into which the greenskins had retreated.

Most of these militiamen were part of my recent idea for a joint defense force between clans. Young dawi, for the most part—many of them had never mastered a craft, their lives spent in subterranean farms. But with muskets, powder, and a few cannons, I had turned them into a force able to hold against greenskins, provided they had steady supplies. And therein lay the heart of the plan: the system.

Entire karaks had been converted into storehouses, stockpiling food, weapons, and armor for the common defense. Other clans pooled gold to negotiate for provisions in the name of all. That way, any tunnel wall had nearby resources to resist, without depending on the High King's fickle orders.

My idea of aiding in the retaking of Karak Eight Peaks was still a distant dream—it would require an immense, prolonged march. Sooner or later, every Border Prince, every greenskin horde, even ogres, would see our supply lines as free meat and gold.

The young dawi were learning the art of war. That, I told myself, would be my greatest gift to their people: the ability to control their domains once more without needing the High King to send entire armies in one direction.

That was the greatest weakness of the current system: if the High King ordered a march north, every clan sent warriors there, leaving the southern and western fronts exposed. With these joint militias, each clan could hold its own wall, while their neighbors knew they would not be left unprotected.

In the past weeks, the results had already shown. Several karaks to the west had been retaken, because the local thanes offered greater resources to the joint defense in exchange for aid. In barely seven weeks, more than forty thousand dawi had abandoned the overcrowded holds near Karaz-a-Karak to return to the southern fortresses. This had greatly eased the suffocating crowding in the High King's central strongholds.

As the tunnels were cleared, the mines reopened, farms repaired, and dwarven industry stirred once more: forges blazing again, alchemical workshops working at full tilt, hammers ringing on anvils. For the first time in a long while, the production of weapons and armor was growing in the region.

Thus, while I focused on liberating the western mountains, the dawi began to recover. With mineral flows restored thanks to the cleared tunnels, their local industry expanded further. Even so, they still needed to import wood and other materials from the southern human principalities—indispensable for weapons

For my part, I had also taken up the work of trainer for the dawi. Though their strength dwarfed human standards, many had never wielded more than the hammer of their forge. Strange, to me—accustomed as I was to dwarves hardened by centuries of battle—but here I found youths whose beards had barely grown, sent by their clans as expendables for training.

To these lads I taught the use of firearms, how to form and hold a line under pressure, and, in dire need, how to brace a hedge of pikes. For while a dawi, with his natural strength, could drive a spear clean through an orc in one thrust, the orc could just as easily return the favor with equal brutality. The only way to balance the scales was to keep them at a distance, to let the greenskins impale themselves again and again upon the iron discipline of a closed formation.

"With this one, twenty-two karaks have been liberated since the campaign began, reaching the limits of the mountain. That zone no longer needs a fortress facing west, but rather to the south," I said, reviewing the maps the dawi had given me, studying our next move.

"Umgi, my clan's karak lies not far from here. It housed many forges that might still be operable, and they would be invaluable to sustain the defenses," said a dawi thane, pointing to a karak three squares south and one east of our position.

"For that karak to be secure, we'd need to clear at least twelve fortresses beforehand. That's too heavy an investment. I'd rather not sit with only two safe tunnels from east to west. Better to retake these here," I replied, marking the third square southward. "That way we secure more ground in case one defense should fail."

"My clan lies further south still," another thane interjected, indicating a karak two squares below my plan. "If we reclaim my fortress, I will pledge three thousand of my young to the communal defenses… but someone must provide the arms."

"My clan can provide the firearms and black powder necessary, but I require my karak to be reclaimed as soon as possible," said another, pointing to a karak in the east.

"And do you have any problem with your fortress being considered part of the defensive line?" I asked with interest.

"No. What matters to me is verifying that the ancestors of my clan have not suffered any grievance in their eternal rest," the dawi replied with a severe tone.

"Good. That will be next week's plan," I concluded as I folded the maps.

"Next week?" several thanes asked at once.

"Yes. My men need to leave the mountains before they start seeing things that aren't there. We'll take a few days' rest and then return to the fight. In case of emergency, notify me or my men and we'll send reinforcements. But understand this: the body of an umgi is not accustomed to underground life," I replied, staring at them firmly.

I saw several dawi frown and purse their lips, but in the end they nodded.

"Reinforce the walls, arm anyone who can carry a musket, and wait patiently. I'll try to return with more resources. And if I see that the dawi militias can truly help us, we might even attempt something bolder: reclaiming two karaks at the same time," I added before leaving the newly recovered fortress.

With my men, we abandoned the defensive positions and emerged from the mountains for a well-earned week of rest, after fighting without pause in the dawi tunnels.

The camp outside Karaz-a-Karak had not stopped growing. Many thanes still refused to cooperate with the common plan: they only wanted their own karaks reclaimed, continuing their clan rivalries at the expense of unity. So I limited myself to helping those who were willing to cooperate.

During the week of rest, I noticed how trade became safer. Several human merchants from the principalities had arrived with wagons loaded with freshly cut logs or great quantities of grain, all eagerly bought by the dawi. Improvised workshops were producing parts for firearms, later sold to the clans that already had repaired forges to complete the assembly.

While enjoying my dose of vitamin D, I noticed a secluded area of the camp. There, a dawi engineer was working—but strangely, no one else was around him.

He was building a firearm, and doing so much faster than I was used to seeing from a dawi.

As I approached to see what kind of weapon he was making, he suddenly turned, pointing the barrel straight at my face. My immediate reaction was to kick, knocking the weapon upward just as it discharged, the shot blasting barely inches from my head.

"Are you insane!? Who in the hell points a loaded weapon at another man's face?" I shouted angrily.

"And who in the hell kicks another's weapon while he's holding it?" the dawi retorted.

"Someone who doesn't enjoy the taste of lead in his mouth, maybe," I kept shouting.

"My creation is perfectly safe, watch." He turned toward a nearby tree and pulled the trigger. But the weapon didn't fire.

"So safe it doesn't even shoot, dawi," I said, arms crossed.

"Give me a moment…" he muttered, tinkering with the mechanism.

"Maybe the spark isn't reaching the black powder," I suggested while watching.

"Yes… that must be it. Exactly that… if I adjust here and shift this…" he said while making changes. Then he aimed at the tree again, firing a lead projectile that tore it apart. "See? Completely safe, without the need for centuries of testing."

"What do you mean, 'without centuries of testing'? That goes against dawi tradition," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"And what does a manling know of our traditions?" the engineer replied.

"Enough, dawi… enough to know we could be very good friends." I smiled at him.

"In what way?" asked the dawi, puzzled.

"May I?" I said, pointing at the weapon.

He handed it to me. It was good work, though lacking the usual dwarven sturdiness to the touch. It felt hastily assembled—something unusual for his kind. It had a sealed system to guide the spark into the barrel, and two triggers: one for the upper barrel, another for the lower. The engineer had created a shotgun, clearly superior to the traditional blunderbuss.

"Yes… I think we can do good business," I said, handing it back.

"And what can you offer me, manling?" the dawi asked, still wary.

"Oh, come now, dawi… I'm the creator of smokeless powder." I pulled out a pouch and tossed it to him. "Your kin are interested in my invention, but they limit themselves to centuries of testing before recommending it."

The dawi stared in surprise for a few seconds before examining the pouch.

"I've seen this before… I tried to recreate it for weeks because of its power, but I failed. Besides, it's too expensive, with too few orders to fund my projects. But yes… I saw its strength, and especially that it leaves no residue." His tone had grown more respectful.

"I'm glad you recognize it. But I want to propose something," I said with a broad smile.

"I'm listening, umgi," the dawi replied.

"I've designed a firing system that doesn't require a spark, only a strike to trigger it. I need a dawi engineer, though I know all my designs would be rejected as too innovative. But you… you could help me."

"I need to see it with my own eyes first," he answered.

"Good. Give me a few minutes."

I ran to my camp, grabbed a piece of bronze, and with my magic, shaped it into a casing. I filled it with smokeless powder, placed a bullet at the top, and crafted a mercury fulminate primer at the base. Once the ammunition was ready, I brought it back to the dawi.

He examined it closely, then placed it on the anvil and struck it with a hammer. The primer detonated, firing the bullet.

His face transformed in astonishment, mouth open, stunned.

"What are your conditions, umgi?" the engineer finally asked.

"Let's make a deal. I'll give you all the funding you need, all the smokeless powder you require. But in return, I want you to manufacture weapons using this system. Similar to your shotgun. We'll be clearing tunnels for months, and I need a reliable arsenal. That's my condition. I'll provide you with everything necessary to produce them," I said with a smile.

The dawi stood in thought, tapping his foot nervously against the ground.

"I'll need guild authorization… but yes… a contract is impossible, the guild wouldn't accept it. Still, as a guild representative, I could make it feasible," he admitted.

"Good. I'll ask the High King to speak with the Engineers' Guild of Karaz-a-Karak so I can sponsor a dawi genius like you." I extended my hand.

The dawi clasped it firmly.

"Albrecht von Reinsfeld," I said, handing over all the smokeless powder I had on hand.

"Grimm Burloksson," the dawi replied, immediately beginning to experiment with the powder.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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